there she goes
by smileyfacebabe
Summary: She races through your brain and pulses in your veins; you shouldn't want to see her like this but you do. She is His, not yours, but you love her all the same. You will always love her, even when she goes again. ItaSakuSasu


Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or the song mentioned. I just own tired eyes & stupid ideas. Ew.  
A/N: I was going to put this in Cushion Secrets but I decided against it. Also, this could go either way, ItaSaku with one-sided SasuSaku or SasuSaku with one-sided ItaSaku. Chose whatever you like. (If you want to know what it originally started out as, feel free to ask. )  
A/N2: Second person is scary as fuck. & terribly sad sometimes. Welldamn.

* * *

You know she's there before you even open the door. Her umbrella, that insane poison apple red thing, is discarded at your feet and still dripping wet. Idly you wonder how long she's been here as you stare at the folded up accessory like it could tell you down to the exact millisecond. Somewhere, in the part of your head you're disinclined to like very much, something mumbles and tiredly tells you to go back to the car and crash at Deidara's apartment instead; trouble lies through that door, trouble and heartbreak. But you ignore that voice, as you tend to do, and open the door.

You're desperate to see her, even though you know you shouldn't.

And sure enough you can hear her, her hardly-melodious voice carrying around the corner from the living room. She's singing but the words don't register for a long moment as you kick off your shoes and ditch your soaking jacket, but they sink in as you step farther into the house. Other noises drift in too; your mother in the kitchen preparing food and singing along, someone, your cousin probably, walking upstairs, and the quiet sound of couch cushions shifting. You ignore those and focus in on her voice, coming to stand at the juncture of the hallway and kitchen silently, slightly cold.

"There she goes," she sings and though her voice is hardly anything beautiful it warms your heart completely. "There she goes again, racing through my brain-"

You drink in the sight of her like fine wine, the taste rich and sweet to your dark lonesome eyes. She's a pixie in an old ridiculous apple red soccer jersey and torn, faded jeans that hug her hips like you've always wanted to. She's twirling, dancing, her long candy pink hair swirling around her with her arms thrown out to her sides; she moves in hops and skips, swaying from side to side though there was no music to dance to other than her own voice. _She's beautiful_, you think, dazed as always by the light and love that fills any room she's in; but she's always beautiful to you. You know your jaw's unhinged and you know you shouldn't stare, but you can't find it in you to care; she's so beautiful it takes your breath away.

But He's here and the realization brings you back to solid ground quickly. You don't even know why you just realized it, but the thought wrenches your eyes from her until they land on his form. He's sitting on the black leather couch like the ungrateful, lazy bastard he is, television remote in one hand. He's watching her dance and sing, a wry little smirk playing about his lips, but he doesn't join her, doesn't make the effort to make her even happier, and for a moment that makes you entirely too furious. He has everything you want, everything you _need_ and he doesn't even appreciate it or even _try_, and for a moment you lose yourself in that incessant angry ache, lost, but it doesn't last long.

She spots you, standing there quietly in the doorway, and her green gem eyes light up even more. She doesn't even falter when she suddenly changes course, spinning over to where you are and pulling you into her dance. Your feet are heavy all of a sudden, clumsy, but she pulls you upright and you catch the hang of it soon enough but in the meantime the words she seems to know by heart are spilling from her perfect pink lips prettily and you're the happiest man alive. You tighten your hold around her waist, hugging her hips like her jeans do, and from here you can smell the shampoo she uses, though can't tell what fruit she smells like exactly. Maybe if you had more time, you think distantly, but you're too busy trying to soak up everything about this moment as a whole to seriously contemplate what flavor of shampoo she uses. She continues to sing and you continue to cling and somewhere in the back of your head that voice is still mumbling, but the world is much too right to pay any attention to pessimistic voices.

Later, at her wedding, you will recall that moment with your heart in your throat and the bitter taste of bile on your tongue. The memory of her bright eyes will pulse in your blood and your eyes will burn with tears at the remembrance of your arms snug around her waist. The wedding will be a grand one, a huge one fit for a princess and it will be everything she will deserve, but you will not bring yourself to smile.

You won't say anything, either. There simply won't be anything to say; it will be her wedding day and He will always be the man that she loves. There will be hundreds of half-sentences and scrambled thoughts that will cling to the tip of your tongue of course, but you'll never let them out.

Instead you will simply stand on the edge of the circle around the dance floor, people clapping, cheering, and laughing to the sides and back of you, a little raincloud of heartbreak among happiness. You'll take in the irony of the moment to yourself, careful to keep your face a mask of dry amusement, and let the words wash over you bitterly. Her wedding dress will swish elegantly around her ankles as He dances with her and you'll still be struck by how utterly beautiful she is.

Idly you'll think she'll always be beautiful enough to take your breath away.

_There she goes_, you'll think cynically, in perfect time with the song, and you won't even bother to die how you glower at him for a moment. _There she goes again, pulsing through my veins._

Your heart will break into dark little pieces, then.

But that is later; for now though you are dancing with her in your living room, arms tight around her waist, when suddenly the room floods with sound. A little guiltily you jump away from her as if shot, eyes staring blankly for a long moment at the television, more closely at the text in the corner that reads "mute off", and by the time you've regained your wits she's out of your arms. She laughs, spends a bright smile your way, and flops down into his arms. You're reluctant to let the feelings in your chest be pushed aside, just as you are reluctant to let Him get to you, so you settle into a nearby chair to join them. Her smile grows a little bit more and you feel your chest swell with hope, because hope never dies, because hope always succeeds.

_There she goes_, you think to yourself with a hint of a smile, _there she goes again, chasing down my lane. And I just can't contain the feeling that remains._

You feel light and happy when you think of the possibly future.


End file.
